Wings of Exile

by JD Monroe

  He sighed. “I hate to be selfish, but some of her clients are going to be ticked.”

  “I’ll handle it. I already sent an email saying she was sick. No need for them to know all her business. No decent human will be mad at her for being ill.”

  “So, are you coming back in tomorrow?”

  “Probably not.” Before he could ask why, she pressed on. “But I’ll work remotely and keep up with the emails and billing.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Okay. Just call me if you hear anything. And uh…if you talk to her, tell Thea I’m thinking about her.”

  After hanging up, she sat and stared at her phone. Maybe Erevan or Ruana needed to pay Perry a visit, to assure him that everything was fine. She shook her head. Just thirty-six hours ago she’d been berating Erevan for lying and using his compulsion to smooth things over for his benefit. And here she was, ready to mess with Perry’s mind to keep him out of the way.

  How quickly things changed.

  Sitting in the room made her feel useless, but there wasn’t much to do while they waited on Erevan’s leads. Catching up on her work would at least give her something to do other than think about that damned dragon.

  Sleep eluded Erevan.

  Thosrin’s receptionist called several times throughout the evening; the first time was to tell him that she was waiting on initial reports, the second to tell him that the her first few Flock to report had dead-ended, following trails from Beale’s facility to the smoldering ruin of his house. Old news.

  He pored over Thea’s journal, but he found nothing new. In an effort to feel productive, he jotted down each name he came across, looking for patterns or a hidden connection. With the night endless and denying him sleep, he cross-referenced the journal against the list of contacts from the Island. The only entries in the journal that piqued his interest were several references to T. Lunch with T, Meet T for drinks. There were four names on the Island list that began with T, and Thea could have been referring to any of them. Thomas, the name Natalie’s attacker had given, was probably a fake. He could have been the T in her journal, or there could have been a second accomplice.

  It didn’t help matters that he had to keep wrestling his focus away from Natalie. Stubborn, beautiful, smart. All the things he could appreciate. She’d invited him closer, and the racing pulse told him she had enjoyed the moment as much as he had.

  So why did she send him away? What was broken in him that she couldn’t tolerate?

  The festival drums boomed in a muffled, insistent rhythm from beyond his walls, as if to punctuate the sting of rejection. If he listened carefully, he could hear the laughter of giddy, drunken revelers celebrating the Skymother. This was the worst night imaginable to sit alone in his room and feel sorry for himself.

  He wasn’t as cocky as Ruana liked to tease him for, but he knew if he walked out those doors and grabbed a glass of vrisadan, he could have a beautiful woman in his arms before the music stopped. But the thought of it brought him no joy.

  He wanted Natalie, but more importantly, he wanted her to want him back. Rejection, not unfulfilled lust, was the problem. He wanted her to invite him in; into her bed, into herself. He wanted to see every inch of her, to taste her on his tongue.

  And she didn’t want him.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Erevan’s love life for the last fifteen years had been a string of meaningless flings. He’d loved a woman once, felt that all-consuming sense that he’d found something he didn’t realize was missing. Solyassa had been a Wanderer from the Ashflight, much like Thea. He’d fallen for her the moment he saw her, and inexplicably, she’d felt the same. Her affection for him had made him feel divinely touched. She’d vowed to stay here with him, saying nothing in Ascavar compared to what they had together. For her to stay was the ultimate proof of love, giving up everything she knew believing that he was enough for her.

  And then she left.

  One day, she was simply gone. At first, he’d thought something terrible had happened to her. He’d driven himself mad searching for her until one of the Gatekeepers confirmed that she’d passed through to return to her home in Greenspire. She had left no word for him. Whatever she’d found in him hadn’t been enough. His love, huge and consuming, was inadequate for her. He couldn’t complete her.

  Since then, he’d refused to let anything go beyond pure physicality.

  Until now. Fool of a dragon, letting himself think that she could be interested.

  His mind’s endless circling had finally done the trick to put him to sleep. He woke with a tablet lying on his chest and a smudge of black ink on his arm from his pen. His daily alarm bleated at him, alerting him that it was 6:45 and time to get up. He groaned and began to get ready.

  Fortunately, his job with the Skywatch was flexible. He and Ruana dealt with cases as they were reported. When things were slow, they made courtesy calls to check up on their assigned Wanderers. Little of their work was a matter of life or death, and so it was a simple matter to call their office and reassign a few cases to the other investigators.

  He had officially handed the case to Rosak, and he would honor his word. He didn’t intend to be a renegade and take this on alone, regardless of Sohan’s unexpected faith in him. But he still intended to do his own research. When Beale’s weapon incapacitated Erevan, it became personal. He hated to admit it, but if Natalie hadn’t intervened, he would have likely ended up like the other dragons imprisoned in Beale’s slaughterhouse. He wanted answers, and he wanted to hear them from Beale’s mouth rather than secondhand from Rosak.

  Erevan stopped by the kitchen on the way to the infirmary, where the queen’s staff had begun laying out a simple breakfast of fruit, bread, and smoked meats, most likely left over from the previous night’s festivities. Communal meals were a traditional provision within the Queen’s castle, a holdover from the world of Ascavar. Thankfully, her staff had added at least one modern component: coffee. He filled a plate with food, poured a cup of coffee, then sent a text to Ruana.

  You up? Going to check on Beale.

  People trickled into the small dining hall as he waited for her response. The early morning crowd were likely not the ones who’d been up all night reveling in the festival.

  Like Erevan, most of Queen Valella’s subjects lived in the city, but some lived here in her compound. All of the Tempest lived here, serving as protectors to the queen and king as well as the enforcers of their laws. There was also a Gate a few miles from the compound, where Wanderers came through. Most new arrivals stayed at the compound for the first few weeks while the Skywatch explained how to navigate the human world.

  Not all of the Exiles worked directly for the queen, even though they all were under her rule. Those who worked for her were always welcome at Skyward Rest. Like Erevan had yesterday, they just had to show up and claim their room. Meals were prepared based on a current count of who was in the palace. In exchange, a significant portion of Erevan’s salary fed back into the queen’s coffers. His apartment in the city was owned by a wealthy member of the Exiles and was rented to the queen’s staff at a steep discount. Some disliked the forced tribute, but he liked the sense that there was always a home to return to. His parents had moved to London years ago when a new Gate was discovered, helping to establish the necessary safeguards to protect both human and dragon communities. With his immediate family across the ocean, Skyward Rest was a safety net, a reminder that his people were his family.

  He had finished his plate of food by the time Ruana responded.

  Ruana: Just woke up. Meet you there in ten

  Natalie’s name was a little further down the list in his messages. There was a small – maybe not so small – petty part of him that wanted to ignore her as retaliation for her rejection. But he was better than that, or at the very least, he wanted to be. He quickly composed a text.

  Going to check on Beale. Have coffee for you. Meet me at infirmary.

  He topped off his coffee, th
en poured another cup for Natalie. As he walked down the cool, quiet stone hallways, he tried to tell himself he didn’t care one way or the other if she showed up. In fact, it was probably better for her to stay out of the way entirely.

  It wasn’t working.

  Ruana was already outside the infirmary when he arrived. She’d thrown on jeans and a dark top. Her long glossy hair was twisted into a messy style, and the rings under her eyes showed she hadn’t bothered with makeup that morning. She was still gorgeous, but she looked tired. Her eyebrows lifted as she pointed to the cups of coffee in either hand. “For me?”

  “Uh, I…” he stammered.

  “It’s for her, isn’t it?” Ruana said. Her eyes crinkled as she grinned at him. “Erevan Skyblaze, you are becoming a proper gentleman.”

  “You can take the rest of mine.” With guilt burning his cheeks, he offered her his cup.

  “You drink it way too sweet for me,” she said, pushing it away gently. “I guess it suits this new sweet dragon you’ve become.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m just being nice.”

  “Much nicer than usual.”

  “I’m always nice to you,” he protested.

  “That’s because you have to be. No offense, serani, but you don’t usually go out of your way to make thoughtful gestures.”

  “No offense,” he muttered. The affectionate nickname didn’t help matters, reminding him that she now saw him as a little brother.

  “You care for her,” Ruana said. “Can I give you some advice?”

  “You’re going to regardless.”

  She grinned. “Don’t do what you normally do. Don’t go cold on her when you start to feel something. Let it happen instead of trying to pretend you don’t give a damn.” She patted his arm. “She’d be crazy not to give you a chance.”

  He gaped as she bumped him with her hip. Ruana had become his partner long after Solyassa, and while she knew he’d been burned by a bad breakup, he’d never told her how deep it had cut. He thought he’d done a good job of being aloof and casual. Apparently not.

  Ruana showed her credentials to the receptionist in the front room of the infirmary, then waited for the young man to lead them back to Beale.

  Acute injuries were handled in the central wing, where he’d slept when they brought him back to Skyward Rest yesterday. If a patient needed privacy or an extended stay, they would be moved to a private room. Beale was in one of these rooms, in the back corner of the infirmary. Two of the queen’s guards flanked the door.

  Erevan showed his credentials to the guard. “We’re with the Skywatch.”

  One of the guards hesitated. “We were told the Tempest were handling this.”

  “We brought him in,” Ruana said. “We just want to ask questions. We’ll pass any relevant information along.”

  The guard raised one eyebrow, then opened the door. “Leave the door open.”

  The small room beyond was purely utilitarian, only big enough for a bed and a handful of people to work around it. Silver sigils of healing were inscribed in the stone walls, issuing a quiet thrum of energy.

  One of the healers’ apprentices was in the room, checking on the injured man in the bed. She looked up and frowned. “He’s not ready for a visitor.”

  Erevan shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  Beale was naked except for a small cloth draped over his groin for modesty. Every inch of exposed skin was slathered in a glistening ointment. Through the translucent layer, his skin was an angry, blistered red. His right side was worse; from the peak of his shoulder to the tips of his fingers was swollen and purple, with charred black streaks marring his skin. An IV pole stood behind him with a large bag of clear fluid that dripped into a tube connected to his hand.

  “How is he?” Ruana asked.

  “Much better than yesterday,” the apprentice said. “He should rest. We’re keeping him comfortable, so he can heal in peace.”

  “He doesn’t deserve comfort,” Erevan said. Ruana elbowed him.

  “I know who he is,” the healer said. “My job is to heal, not to make judgements.”

  “We need to talk to him,” Ruana said.

  The healer sighed. “I’ll try to wake him.”

  The woman gently touched his forehead, one of the few expanses of skin that wasn’t blistered. The burns had to be excruciating, but Erevan couldn’t muster much sympathy for him.

  “You’re not permitted—” one of the guards outside the door said in Kadirai. “Hey!”

  Erevan whirled on his heel to see the two guards blocking the door. He leaned out to see Natalie glaring up at one of them, protesting in English. “She’s with me,” he said in Kadirai. “Let her in.”

  “She is not a member of the Skywatch.”

  “First, you don’t know that,” Erevan said. “Second, she’s training with Sohan. Take it up with him. I’ll be happy to call him down here if you’d like.”

  The guard scowled at him, then stepped aside to let Natalie in. “Fine.” No one wanted to start their day by getting on Sohan Shadowbane’s shitlist.

  Natalie fixed a neutral expression on her face as she walked in. She raised her eyebrows. “Is this Beale?”

  Erevan nodded. “That’s him.”

  The healer stepped away, biting her lip. Beale stirred. His fingers twitched, and then he opened his eyes slowly. He craned his neck, staring down at the ruin of his skin, then grimaced. His voice was hoarse and painful. “Where am I?”

  “You’re with the healers in Skyward Rest,” the healer said in English.

  Beale’s eyes widened as he started to squirm. He gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “Please lie still.” She glared at Erevan. “You can have a few minutes, but if he gets agitated, this is over.”

  “Don’t worry, you’re in very good hands,” Ruana said. “The two dragons you mutilated are just down the hall.”

  Beale’s eyes opened again, but his expression was defiant. “You can do what you want,” he croaked. “I’m not talking to you.”

  Ruana stepped in front of Erevan and leaned over Beale, planting her hands on either side of him. The healer started to protest, but Ruana cut her off. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, and I don’t even have to touch you.” She unleashed her compulsion with an audible burst of power, like a whip crack that snapped just past the end of his nose. Beale’s eyes glazed over. “Are you in charge of the operation, or do you work for someone?”

  “I work for someone,” Beale said dreamily.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dornan.”

  “Is he part of the Raspolin?” Erevan asked.

  “Your word, not ours,” Beale said.

  “What’s your word?” Ruana asked.

  “The Chosen of Vystus,” Beale said, almost reverent. Erevan glanced at Ruana, who gave him a little shrug. He’d never heard of the name. “Servants of the great spirit of justice. We have a divine mission to end the tyranny of the dragons. We will finish the work our fathers began years ago.”

  Erevan’s stomach churned at his words. The work their fathers began. He was Raspolin. Sohan was right.

  “What are you doing with the dragons? The ones you had in your basement? How does that help your mission?” Ruana asked.

  “The Crimson Path,” Beale said.

  “Blood magic.” The healer shook her head. “It’s forbidden.”

  “The path is the endless flow of life into life. Their life feeds more life. It is a gift. A sacrifice of blood to redeem their corruption.”

  Natalie looked uncomfortable, but she stepped forward. “Where’s Thea Leska?”

  Beale shook his head. “I don’t know who that is.”

  Erevan let his hand hover over the man’s horrifically burnt arm. “We’ve been merciful so far. That can change.” He prepared the flame, ready to sear with his touch.

  “I don’t know,” Beale said.

  Before he could grab the wounded man’s arm, thin fingers closed around his wrist wit
h surprising strength and pulled his hand away. The healer glared at him, gripping his wrist tightly. “You will not harm my patient, or I will have you thrown out. Feel free to bring Shadowbane here, and I’ll tell him the same.”

  Erevan nodded, although Natalie’s eyes were narrowed. “Ruana?”

  There was another whip crack as Ruana leaned hard on Beale with her mind. His eyes went wide, and he shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “She was one of the dragons you took,” Natalie said.

  “I don’t handle names or anything. I help them prepare for transport.”

  “Transport?”

  Beale nodded. “Most of them go to Dornan’s facility. As far as he knows, all of them do. I keep a few paid donors so no one suspects. But we were running our own business on the side. Elixir is a lucrative commodity. Hard to get here. I use a little for healing and sell the rest.”

  “Who’s we?” Natalie asked. “Who works with you?”

  “One of you. His name is Tahin.” Tahin had to be the T from Thea’s journal, and Natalie’s attacker. “And one of the Edra. They look for suitable candidates in the area and bring them to my facility. I get them sedated and prepare them. I keep three or four at a time and prepare the rest to move. Dornan sends a truck. His people load up the cargo, and—"

  Natalie took a step forward, fury pulling her shoulders tight. Erevan could sense the lightning building within her. He rested a hand on her back, ready to grab her if she tried to attack Beale. “They’re not cargo, you piece of shit,” she seethed.

  “You said one of the Edra,” Erevan said. “Who?”

  “One of Thosrin’s Flock,” Beale said. Erevan’s stomach plunged.

  “I need a name.” Please, not Lilya.

  “Her name is Herilah,” Beale said. “She works at one of the queen’s clubs.” Erevan was flooded with relief and dread at the same time. He knew who she was. And as one of the Flock, she was flying around the city with full knowledge that they were looking for her accomplices. Right under Thosrin’s nose.